No, it's never as simple as that. If you surf and don’t care, or you don't surf and you don’t care, maybe the previous two sentences are good enough for you, and you can go on your merry way, but I’d like to point out that things are always a bit more complicated, and sometimes they warrant further clarification and investigation into the minutia.

The day started innocently enough. I woke up to the fluorescent at 5:07am. I kind of suspected that there would be some swell today, so I was a bit excited. Not crazy hell-man size, but something in the doable range. The plan was to meet up at Sloat at 6:30, so after my ritual preparation entailing teeth brushing, water drinking, and board and wetsuit packing, I was out of the building onto the street at 5:56. I didn’t even look at the flags outside my building this morning, but I had a suspicion that things would be OK in terms of wind.

So I load the motorcycle, and hop on, and I’m on my way. Along the freeway I could tell there was a bit of wind, but it was coming from the South. I had a suspicion that the wind would be offshore if anything. I ride the freeway uneventfully, and ride up Sloat. I pull into the lot, kill the engine and look at the moonlit water. I could see 4 solid lines of moonlit white, with moderate glistening texture. I could tell that if we put in here, we would be in for a battle. It was 6:20 and Chris hadn’t arrived yet, so I pull out my phone, and begin texting “Damn, 4solid bars, textur……” and here comes Chris pulling in. I cancelled the text, shook hands, and immediately I mutter “ugh, gunna be a battle”. We deliberate a bit and I’m pretty firm on heading South, without even mentioning it. I let him say it. So the agenda was to go to Rockaway, but of course, my heart has always favored Winter’s Tavern, so of course, I mention we should at least stop there on the way.

Chris pulls away and motors down the street, and I’m still messing with my gloves. When I get them on, I pull out, and start down the Great Highway under the clearing moonlit sky. I motor down, exit the freeway, and get to the neon martini I always loved. I see Chris mulling around the truck, as I pulled up, and he immediately said “let’s go”. Well that was all I needed to hear. I knew that it must have been acceptable to him. In fact, when I was pulling up, I saw a monster set come in and fold over and then peel right, and I knew then it was going to be interesting.

We suit up in the new morning light, while we’re watching what appears to be pretty damn thick bombs coming through, with boiling wash carpeting and then backing off. After having backed off for a second, I watched in amazement as the entire shore seemed to be receding and then quickly building again into a violent black sand-ridden monster. What was going through my mind was “Do not be in there when this is happening; Do not be near your board when this is happening, if you are errantly in there. Damn, I don’t think the dog would survive this. The dog always survives. Maybe not the owner…Maybe not today. Heh.”. After that internalization I knew exactly how to get in. Play chicken with the shore pound. It’s pretty simple: You just wait for the grit monster to spit, and then you run and paddle as hard as you can to get past the crucial checkpoint. That checkpoint is where there is still a bit of carpet whitewash from the incoming wave, but far enough out so that you don’t get the suck of the impending shore punishment. The difference of a few feet means a lot when it’s heaving like this. You’re either safe from shore pound, or you’re not. So I let the last monster finish to my ankles, find my break in the set, and run in, belly skidding on the board, and I paddle to cross that checkpoint. I ducked under a wave, and then I look behind me and sure enough 10ft behind me I could see what was once ankle deep, now being completely dump-trucked with a solid 8ft of black hued water. It’s nice being right. It’s also nice being right and safe.

We made our way to the outside and as per usual, the waves were starting to break at the double pylon. On any decent swell, not too big, not too small, the double pylon is the essential marker. If you get to the double, you’re cool either way: Generally, you can move out quick enough to escape any sneaker, and you can move in close enough to get a smaller wave. So Chris and I are waiting at the marker and sets are generally coming through but today, we note that the swell isn’t generally too big in height, it’s just that these waves were pretty damn thick. Periodically when a big one would break, we’d hear dump trucks of water crashing and thundering on itself. We sat there for a while, waiting for the sets to come. Some small ones came and some big ones came. Chris who was getting farther South from me managed to bag a huge right and then jumping jack off the face as the remaining closeout absolutely exploded behind him as he was airborne. I laughed and cheered heartily, as it was pretty damn thick and definitely head high.

Again, it was the thickness that was of note. None of these waves were twiggy tall crumblers. All seemed to have a mission: Explode anything and everything on it, in front of it, with full vengeance. As I watched Chris paddle back out, I got jealous so I started to move inside, to see if I could bag a small one at least. I got lulled in there, and I found a wave that I tried to get into. It was pretty thick and as I started to paddle, it started to curl over and then the whole wave started to jack and throw like I was on the back of a stallion. I looked down the line at my potential right, and then I felt that if I did go, it would be crazy. It had abruptly raised about 4ft more than I had anticipated and I pulled back, and as I did, I could hear the beginning of a roar and the offshores sprayed buckets of water into my face and the whole wave rumbled and spit forward, leaving me behind. Having averted certain disaster I was pretty content at the rush I got, despite the failure, so I was smiling. But it’s not shortly thereafter when my heart sunk. I could see another wave building and I knew that after chasing that last one, I was too far inside the double pylon for this to turn out well. Just from the look of it, I knew it was going to be time to pay. Well that second wave in the set came, clapped right in front of me, and I promptly ditched my board and did my best to just get as deep as possible. Again, it wasn’t so much the wave height today that had the prime effect on things, instead it was thickness.

What I felt was definitely thick. I was pushed down extremely hard, and I could feel my foot being tugged quite forcefully, until, I could no longer feel my board on my ankle any longer. The leash had been snapped like a licorice whip at the movies. I was pretty damn sad because I hadn’t surfed the weekend, and yesterday was a disaster, and today could have been the day where I got at least one wave in four days to restoke the fire. It didn’t matter what conditions were like today. It was a must-surf day, and when the leash broke I knew that despite my must-surf status, the ocean didn’t care one lick and it could have been time to go home again. Dejected, cursing, and still underwater, there was more to come. I was pushed down deep, and then I was finding it hard to come up, and when I finally did come up to grab a breath, it was so foamy I couldn’t tread water so well. That’s when another wave of the same size came crashing on me, and it made me feel even worse about things.That’s when I did get a little scared. Not necessarily panicked, but a bit scared. That was two on the head, hard to swim, dejection, and impending shore pound. I wasn’t feeling like I was controlling things. However that didn’t last too long, as I finally made my way in, found my board fins up on the blackish gritty sand and saw Chris run over. We both laughed and Chris hopped in his truck for a new leash. I put the leash on but it didn’t wrap around my ankle too solidly like my other ones and that’s when I determined and uttered “Damn dude hahahah This must be a grom leash” Beggars can’t be choosers right? So I put that leash on, paddled back out, and had two leash tests of the same ilk right out of bed. I held onto the board this time, no matter how ill advised it was, but the board was ripped out of my hands and tugged my ankle again regardless. The leash held both times, so as grom as it was, it was good enough apparently, thankfully.

A while later it was time for Chris to go in, so he catches a middle insider in, and safely gets to shore, after I told him I’d be out for a bit more. I’m continuously sussing out where the waves are breaking, and trying to stay towards the middle. I can see the tide rising now, and when the waves hit the shore, or rather, completely pound and utterly speed flood the shore incline, the water rushes up and juts up against the rocks and break wall causing black and white explosions. That’s when I think to myself “heh, don’t wanna be in there towards the left, lemme move right and towards the center”. So I paddle and paddle and kind of set myself up correctly for the next set. Then I could tell they were coming. Two were on their way. I wasn’t going to touch number one.

I already resigned myself to that. I thought “No more playing chicken with number two after flailing on number one, f that, not today, not again. Already done that fuckin twice already and paid dearly.”. So number one comes by and jacks and roars like an angry son of a bitch, and I was sooo glad that I opted out from the get go. Then number two comes and it appears to be setting up as a left. It’s getting bigger and better, and I think this is it. I can see Chris at his truck. I can see another guy on the pier. I’m thinking maybe I just catch this one, and call it.

So I start paddling, and the wave seems pretty damn thick just like all the others that have been rolling through. Then it starts to jack and immediately, without thinking, stand up and point hard left. I could feel myself going violently forward and down at a left angle, and I knew that I had to maintain this, I had to make it. I had to hold my ground, I had to bag this one.I did. Finally. I skate down the face that seemed like forever and as soon as I turn to look behind me I hear an explosion, and as I look forward towards my line I see it completely shut down. I straighten up and then tell myself to embrace for the carpet, because I know it’s coming. As soon as I thought that, the board shoots violently from under my feet, and I’m bobbing in the water near the pier, having gone left.

I collected my board and then begin to paddle towards the center again, but since I was closer to shore, and having just gone through quite a bit already I was feeling a bit tired. I didn’t have a lot of paddle juice left to get far to the center, especially that close to the shore. I was past that shore pound checkpoint, but there was a pull North, towards the pier. I decided to play chicken. I decided to try to make it in, even with the very little Southern slack that I had, away from the pier. This was an error. A bad error. It turns out I was right yet again. When an hour and some change ago, I had thought to myself “heh, wouldn’t want to be in there”, that’s exactly where I saw myself at that moment.

Now I was playing within 10ft to 2ft swings of undulating water, within pier pylons. I could see a shore pound coming so I ditched the board and swam towards the left pier pylon. I could feel the board tug at my foot and I couldn’t give a rats ass, but when I looked at the board I nearly shit myself, because I caught a glimpse of the shore there and I was like “FUUUUUUUUUUCK”.

So I swim even more feverishly through the pylons towards the North side of the pier and I think to myself, “get past this fucking wall, don’t take a shore pound here, NOT HERE, fuck here comes another one.”. Sure enough another drainage undulation comes in and I barely duck under another pylon gnashing flow. I keep swimming and clear the pier and go out a bit more and I think finally I’m safe. I hop on the board, see the North stairs, and paddle in towards them. I get out on a mound of water that thankfully didn’t throw, but instead, go from 10ft high to about 2ft on an incline. What goes up must come down, and the backflow rush sucked me off my feet just as quickly as I was able to get up and I’m hoping I can just get up fast enough to just get to the damn stairs and get in. I made it to my feet and I see Chris running over. We laughed heartily and I fully admit what just transpired was a bit sketchy. I wasn’t really scared though. Once I made it through the pylons I knew I’d be OK, essentially but there were two moments of do or die. Maybe not die but brace for unwanted impact.We walk back and Chris says the fishermen were getting a rise out of my situation and running over the pier to see the other side. Wonder what that looked like. Dude with a green board, about to get slam-handled I bet.

I did what needed to be done. As I got dressed and Chris pulled off, I thought to myself long and hard. I came to the conclusion that surfing is fucking stupid. The whole goddam thing is stupid. Look at me. I get up at 5 in the morning. I go out in the bitter cold. I subject myself to utter torturous and dangerous conditions.For what? Why bother? For literally a mere two seconds of glory, on a stupidly steep left that was bigger than me, and by sheer force of nature, aims to bowl over everything in its way?Yes.It’s a fair trade for all those details.

heh... You never know who you're going to meet out there, so obviously, it goes without saying, that treating everyone with respect is paramount.I dunno...I just went out there on July, and I knew the surf was shit, and there was this guy surfing. I had brought my video camera and wetsuit and left the board at the office.

So I said fuck it, I'll go body surf and just take video, and see what happens.

checkpoint reached. Today was one of the best days of surfing I've had in my surfing career. It wasn't necessary because of the waves. I mean, the waves were good, sure, but today was more of an affirmation of why I go surfing all the time, why I'm so dedicated to it, and why it practically governs my life.I do really odd shit to go surfing all the time.I don't do drugs or drink because what's tomorrow? Shit I gotta get up and hit the beach!For almost two years, I've been going surfing nearly daily at Ocean Beach. I started out on a goddam soft top, then bought a yellow costco BIC longboard, and then endured three months of self skunking on a 7.0 minigun that I was DETERMINED to learn how to use.Every day I'd take that stupid thing out, sometimes in big surf.Then something happened.When I learned how to use the minigun, an exponential ability to employ (nearly) any shortboard surfaced. I started using fish, single fin 6'6's, and 6'4 thrusters. All kinds of boards. One day I even took my fins off for shits and giggles, just to see what it was like. (I was inspired by this video of guy who was in double overhead surf with like these two very minor side-bites on his board).Anyway, my point is, is that I've arrived at a checkpoint.Today was a head high plus day, and I brought my 5'10 Lost Monk Fish out. There's only one plan on a head high plus day with that kind of board: Go late, go deep, and pray your fins dig.After today, I'm convinced of one thing.I.can.surf.I stay in the pocket, climb high side, pump, stall, and I can schwack a little.I have miles to go, sure. But for now, I'm going to take comfort in my arrival at the checkpoint.See you out there.

Two guys chasing the California Dream I took today off from work. There's been uncharacteristically awesome weather in the Bay Area for the last couple of days, and combined with no wind and a modicum of an ocean swell, surfing has actually been quite enjoyable. Not that surfing cold, windy summer slop isn't enjoyable, but to have such a great change of pace has been a welcome respite.I got into the office relatively early, and decided I'd make my way down South. I scratched my board with the comb and got the wax all bumpy and ready, and I was on my way with board and wetsuit in tow.I got to the break down South at 8:20 or something I guess. My damn watch ran out of batteries yesterday, and I didn't check my phone. I didn't care. The sheer cliff seemingly jutting up against the bright azure sky was the time and the light California Highway 1 mist in the distance, off shore was the time. I had all day, so I tried to soak this all in. This was a picturesque preamble, and I was still finding when it was time to surf. I watched the ocean for a bit. No wind, and some very clean green lumps were coming through and breaking. Some surfers were making it look easy, as they got into these seemingly small rolling mounds by making a quick high side adjustment as opposed to a full bottom turn. I had noted that a few of the set waves were actually head high and I got a bit excited standing on this cliff. I wanted to be in them, careen down the line like them, and maybe try to throw the board up the face on a few.So, I got suited up.I knew my Dutch friend Siebe was down there somewhere. Siebe and I met at Java Beach at Sloat on Saturday morning. He asked me "do you surf?" while I was drinking a hot double latte and gobbling a huge bran muffin under the grey blowing skies. It must have been the water wallet and the surfboard that gave it away.We started talking about OB and the local breaks around here, what he did for a living etc etc and then he asked me where to rent a board, because he wanted to go surfing. I told him down the street there was Aqua, and he could get all that stuff there. He told me he had been to Bali and other notable breaks in Mexico. So with a new camaraderie, we made arrangements to have him pick me up in SOMA and we would make a trip out of it the next day. He seemed happy enough to do it, and I was stoked to be in a car with a friend when making long trips :)So Sunday comes and he pulls up in this rental Ford and we head South. OB was slated to be good, but as he was from out of town, I wanted to ensure he got the most bang for his buck and leave nothing to chance. If you want really clean awesome waves, (what I often call "dessert" compared to what OB dishes up...) you head South.We got past the Santa Cruz county line and we got to the break I was now standing at this morning, again. I see his car there, so I know it's OK to use it to stretch my calves against. When I surfed with him at this same break, a few days ago, my calves got cramped so I didn't want that happening again. I began pushing against the frame and door stretching my calves, and finally I headed down.I see Siebe get into one on his 6.0 tufflite he borrowed and noted he really can surf. For a guy that is kind of off and on...I found his ability to just get a 6.0 and go surf these breaks straight out of bed like this was of note. I watched as he had a few hacks and slashes going left as I descended onto the beach, and then I put my leash on and waded out.We said our hellos, but not too long after that, it was time for him to hit the airport and get out of town. So just like that, Siebe went back to his rental Ford, and headed back to Holland. He definitely was a flying Dutchman who reinforced "If you ain't Dutch, you ain't much." Solid guy who understands what surfing is about and knows how to have a good time.

So I surf for three or so hours more today, and I'm getting really tired and hungry. I decided to head to the Safeway and indulge in a little Starbucks latte and Safeway sandwich. I scramble up the rocks with board in tow, get changed, and barrel down the 1 towards town. I pull into the Safeway, get that big latte I had been dreaming about, and an ice water, and head back outside. Run number two into the store netted two salami and provolone sandwiches. I gobbled one and a half of the sandwiches down but I started feeling really full, so I left the other half for post surf at my next destination. Siebe and I checked this same spot out on Sunday but didn't go in. I had never been there before so it was an adventure. Sunday was a bit windy, even for that place, but there were a few guys on it. Today however, with the heat bearing down, and calmness that I knew was awaiting, it yielded no hesitation. I parked, unpacked, and headed down.I surfed there for another 3 hours and caught wave after wave, sharing with a bunch of guys there. Solid chest high sets were coming through with a few head high ones now and again.I got tired, went back up, changed, and began to eat the rest of my sandwich.I slapped my hands together shaking the crumbs off, and headed back up the trail. It was arduous especially in the heat of the day. I lumbered up what appeared to be section after section of rocks, and then a dirt trail, and then back at the parking lot.Then Garret pulls up. Garrett is on a road bike that's made for touring and he's got a permanently affixed trailer in tow. I can see some equipment and a surfboard on top. It's a fish surfboard as I can make out the impressions it's making through the board bag. Garrett and I talk for a bit, and he says "hey I've seen you at the Jetty" and I'm like yeah, guilty as charged. I go to the Jetty when the South swell is really pumping, or Ocean Beach is wayyyyy too crazy and I need to seek some shelter. There were some crazy days at OB last year, and I'm sure we both caught the Jetty when it was just too much to handle.Garrett and I talk about surfing for a bit, and then I put two and two together. Garrett rode all the way from Half Moon Bay to here. Furthermore, he was camping during his trip. This intrigued me. I started asking questions, starting like "HEYYYYYY!!!!! You're camping arent' you?!!!" Garrett showed his hand, and said yes immediately. Then I said "Wow...., I've *thought* about doing this, but you're actually doing it, WOW". What Garrett probably knows now is that I'm crazy enough to bike-camp-surf, so I got his contact info, and I think if I can cordon off some time, I may actually try it. I've met someone that's equally crazy and rides their bike with their surfboard, but also makes it a multi-day camping adventure. Garrett is clearly chasing the California Dream.

The Lonely BicycleI wish I had a bike like this. I wonder why someone left it there, locked up, only to suffer from the elements, unrequited, unridden, and unloved.This bike represents so much more than just a crappy rusting bicycle.If I had a bike like that, it would mean so much.For one, I'd never lock it up. There would be be no reason to, as locking it wouldn't mean I didn't love it. You don't chain everything you love and need. Also, a bike like this fits within my personal vision and direction of where I want to go. I don't know when this will come to pass, but my vision and direction goes something like this:I wake up at 6am, when it's about to get light. I put on my wetsuit in the house, grab my board in the dark spiderweb ridden garage, and take the bicycle from the side of the house, unlocked. With my leash-wrapped board underneath my arm, and one hand on the handlebars, I begin to push off... a little unbalanced at first because of the board underneath my arm. I manage to get momentum, and I can feel the mist of the fog that is bearing down on these high avenues. A grey hue envelopes everything in this new light, and I can barely see down the street.I get to the end of the block and turn right, and then I can hear the thunder of the ocean. I hear the inside bar closing, folding, and writhing in on itself displacing air and causing thunderclaps with an angry torrent, and from that, with no visual cues, already I know it's going to be big out there. I cross the Great Highway, and I bring the bike out of the Great Highway beach-side path, via the stairs. With my board underneath my arm and one hand still holding the bars the bike kajunkkajunks down the stairs, and I put the board down, and put the bicycle on a dune.There, it will wait for me.And on another day, like this one, it will serve the same purpose.Until there are no more days like this.

I don't think redoing these things are a good idea. I think that Cindi Lauper's version is perfectly fine, and Karate is NOT Kung-fu.

Some questions I had:Why do media companies think this is good?Is there really a market for this stuff?Does the passage of time on works yield opportunity?If a symphony records a Handel work, is this the same thing?Why would consumers consume and pay for this?Because I have these thoughts, should I be screaming at kids to get off my lawn?Is it really that time?

This is how we do it. A perfect Sunday. (Except for Larry the Cable Guy) It was 6:30 in the morning and the alarm on my phone was blaring. I have it set to an old telephone ring sound, and as I opened my eyes from the cringggggg I could see the sun in full brightness, blaring through the thin white curtains, just as hard as the phone was hurting my ears. I let out an "Ugh" as I was still a little tired, but I knew today would be special, and I knew that getting up now was the best measure. I sauntered to the bathroom, freshened up, flexed in the mirror, and then slapped on some jeans and a checkered shirt. I put on my motorcycle jacket and second pair of protective jeans and I got the 650 running.As I made my way over the bridge, I noted no appreciable howling of the wind and I could see the bay at peace. I knew right then and there, today would be an awesome surfing day. I pulled up to the office where I keep my boards and suit and I hop down to my desk and call Colin. "Collllinnnnnnnnnnnn! LET'S DO IT, BE OVER IN 30". Colin let out a groggy "OKnghh". So I start to make my way over to Colin's place.I start the bike and I'm thinking to myself "hmmm better not make this too fast, let's just go across the city instead of the freeway and give Colin some lead time. Haha, he didn't sound too awake when I called." So, I took Van Ness up to Geary and then cut across to Fulton, and then got to Noriega after going on the Old Great Highway. When I got to the Great Highway, I noted it was foggy as hell, and I could barely see a thing, in stark contrast of course to SOMA. I got to Colin's house and Colin furnished me with a cup of coffee and then we walked out to check Noriega. We could barely see anything. What we could see was a kind of mixed up inside, looking kind of chest to head high, and that's when I said we should do the Pacifica run.So, we load up, we hop in, and we were off to Pacifica. The Pacifica run consists of the Pier, Rockaway and then Linda Mar. We roll up to the pier, and I note that the flag is dead, and the sun is starting to shine. I knew right then that today would be awesome indeed. A most most welcome respite from the craptastic wind-hacked folding oceans as of late. After an assessment, we thought it would be wise to at least check Rocky. So we did. We get there and it seemed as if the energy was less focused there, and there were already a few dudes on it. The Philippine fishermen were congregating as per usual, by their cars laughing their asses off at something or another, and having a good time. After being distracted by their hysterical laughing I looked back at the listless ocean and the black suited figures and I told Colin going back to the Pier would probably be better. He agreed and we headed back.We pull into the lot, and we quickly get changed and we hop the fence and we were off to the lineup. There was a guy already in a wetsuit there with his lady, sitting on the beach. Balded and bearded, sitting on a pink towel, he stuck out in stark contrast with his black wetsuit on. Colin and I paddled out past the break and set up, waiting for waves. Then one came! I decided I wanted to be on this one so I paddled hard and the fish started to take. I quickly popped up and started pumping to the clean face and as I did, I could see the rest of the wave down the line start to stand higher and higher, so I pumped again harder and harder, taking the high side. I did this until there was no more wave, to my immediate surprise, and there was only the shore. I quickly dove off the back of the wave, and then I could feel the little gravel pellets on my hands and feet and I knew then it was pretty shallow and hoped my board wasn't messed up. It wasn't I had managed to kick out in time for there to be enough water for the board to escape unscathed.Then I see Colin while I was paddling back out on a monster right, doing the same thing I did; he found the face and was pumping until there was only the shore. I got back out and then I could finally see him on the beach, walking, which was odd. He came back out and then told me he just jumped off his board onto the sand when he got in that close, and we laughed heartily. That's certainly another way to handle what happens when you run out of wave. I thought to myself "wow, he's nuts haha".So, Colin and I surf for about two and a half hours, trading waves, but slowly the conditions were getting weaker. We opted for lunch at this point. So, what do two hungry surfer dudes eat when they haven't had shit for breakfast and have been surfing for nearly three hours? In and Out of course! We roll up there and I'm buying. Two doubles and two fries. One for each. We sit down, we talk, we eat, we have fun. The Daly City In and Out burger joint is a good one, and after surfing Pacifica with Colin, it's kind of our brotradition to go there. What happens next is obvious really: Next to In and Out there's a Krispy Kreme donut shop. Well burgers beget donuts of course so I buy Colin a half dozen donuts: Four choco cremes and two raspberry glazed. Why all the treating? Why keep buying Colin shit? Well today, I broke Colin's coffee mug. Not his favorite mug, it was ordinary at best, but, it seems that every two times or so that I go to Colin's place and drink something, I end up breaking the vessel that I use. Last time was a water glass. I looked as his dish rack, and noted "yeah only one of that glass style, I busted the other one", and then wouldn't you know it....the non descript mug I was using, slips out of my hand and I jerk to catch it but to no avail. Shattered. Again. So, I felt it was my duty to apologize profusely the whole day today, and make up for it with double cheese burgers and donuts.We rolled back to Colin's place so Colin could get back to work, and I started to make double header plans. I'm thinking to myself, it's not *IF* I go back in the water here at OB, it's with *WHOM*. I knew the tide was going out and I was thinking the waves were probably going to be a bit heavier than this morning, and even more cleaned up, so I'm thinking to myself "who's just a shot away and game for this potential punishment?" So I text Tom and he indicated that he's waiting for some Comcast guy to show up at his place so he can get cable and Internet service, but swinging by and waiting with him until Larry the Cable Guy was done was OK.So I moto over to Tom's new place and we wait. And wait, and wait. We then get a bit bored and walk up Irving and pass all the shops. I take note of all the bubble tea shops there and say "BUBBLE!!!!" in a high pitched voice to myself over and over, for absolutely no good reason other than me being retarded and to potentially amuse Tom. I think he thought I was in fact retarded and laughed. We passed hella azn ladies with Pomeranians and pig tails, and we passed tons of restaurants, and watched all the pedestrians chaotically attempt to cross the street. I passed in front of one car, holding my hand up in a clear "STOP SIGN" fashion and Tom remarked that was one of the smartest things to do around here, and I laughed heartily. He also said that having a swivel head is always a good idea around here and then I was laughing pretty heartily again. So it's hot, there's lots of people out, we're just walking around, buying a soda at the corner store and we head back to his place. 30 minutes later Larry the Cable Guy (yes his name was in fact Lawrence as it turns out) rolls up in the Comcast van. I start jumping up and down in excitement and Larry's laughing as he gets out of the van. Tom and him exchange some words and Larry assesses what needs to be done and I think at this point, after Larry realizing he needed to actually *WORK* and get *WORK* *DONE*, and it being past 5pm, he calls in and asks to reschedule. That's great. Tom had been waiting all freaking day, since 2pm, to have Larry pull up at 5:19, assess that he needed to do work, and then pull the plug. Larry then tactfully **ASKS** if he's code 10-19. Hey guess what the FRICK 10-19 probably means? Done for day, returning? Yeah Larry, you don't have to explain SHIT. From the look and actions of a skilled union laborer, I know *EXACTLY* what 10-19 is. I didn't know the code but it wasn't that hard to surmise what it was :) Sigh....So now that Larry was 10-19, Tom and I had some waves to catch. I borrowed one of Tom's older models that was cherrryyyyyyyy. I had brought my board but I thought to myself hmmmm let's treat ourselves to a different kind of experience today, branch out, explore. So we grabbed the boards and headed out.Like a yippie chihuahua, I bolted out and started to get to the break. I quickly made it out but I did take a few good ones to the head. It seemed as if OB really did clean up and the sets were head high. There were a lot of good surfers out and all were enjoying this respite from the blown hackedness. I lost Tom unfortunately but hung out with this pack at this one peak. I had two absolutely awesome wipeouts on some very late attempts, but I also had some very interesting and fun successes as well with Tom's board. I thought it would be wobbly but it wasn't. I thought it wouldn't turn that great but it did. I thought it would handle steep waves but it turns out that every board has a limit: When the wave is curling over, maybe the best place to be trying to stand up isn't on the foam ball of the curl, but instead on the shoulder. My wipeouts were related to me going pretty damn late on waves where no board probably could have made it, and if it did, it would have been miraculous. However, some guys are miraculous surfers, so I don't know.In any event, the board performed well on a few waves that I got and I was ecstatic. I saw Tom with board planted vertically in the sand as a signal I think and I knew then it was time to go in.I went in, we high fived, we cleaned up, we ate pizza, and that....was the end of the perfect Sunday in San Francisco.

Solitude And Stopping At Perfection I pull up to see the flag of the United States listless in the gray sky. To the South I see the rolling green cliffs with brown sandstone exposed towards the ocean, shrouded in mist. I glance back to see the fishermen bunched up towards the back, on the deep end, and I guess that the crabbing is better the deeper it is. I'm already thinking of violating the 'don't get closer than the line on the wall rule', because I'm focusing on the waves that are rolling past right, pylon after pylon after pylon. No one is out. It's glassy and the set waves are head high plus, and I think to myself maybe I should go down the road...sure there will be company, but it'll be better than the other crowded place further down...but then something inside me said 'stop.'.I don't know why, but today was a day meant to be all for myself, and it really wasn't out of selfishness, because I like surfing with others, watching, and cheering them on, and learning. But the allure of this spot, and its good enough conditions, simply made me go back to the car, change and get right in. I don't know why, but when I started changing, I started making the internal bargain again of going to the other place down the road, which may have been even cleaner but maybe with 4 other surfers, I just stopped. When is clean clean enough? When is good good enough? Then, I had decided that right there, it really was the end of the line, because in comparison to some of the toilet bowl conditions I've surfed before, this was orders of magnitude better and would still be a treat.Indeed it was. The whole break was to myself, and I caught plenty of waves.Of note was my last wave. It was a big left that was quite steep, which walled up and started thundering down the line before me, closing the section in front of me. I could hear the thunderclap of the water crashing before me, and I thought that I didn't make this section, but hearing that thunder, and being there, and seeing it happen in front of me was just as fantastic.